Page 46 of Dirty Ginger

14

The next morning, Amelia exited Sullivan’s truck fifteen minutes before nine o’clock, and her heart shattered. Standing next to the casket suspended atop the grave was Beckett, his head bowed as he waited next to the minister. He wore black dress slacks and a navy-blue button up with a black tie, and the minister next to him was in a full black suit with a tie. Her mouth went bone dry as her high heels sank into the grass, her heart reaching for his. Becket had never looked more alone, only making her realize exactly what she needed to do next. Not only for him, but for them.

“Here are the flowers, Auntie Amelia,” Mason said, wearing khaki shorts and a white dress shirt. He offered her the wreath of white roses, lilies and carnations that she picked up from the florist this morning.

“Thank you, buddy.” She dropped a quick kiss on the top of his head, which he did his best to avoid, running back to Sullivan and Clara as they waited for Hayes and Maisie, who were approaching from their truck.

Today, even the universe seemed to understand that Beckett needed more light. The sky was a stunning blue, and with the light breeze, the air was rich with floral scents from all the flowers left around the gravestones. She inhaled the beauty, reminding herself that even though this place was hard for her to visit, today wasn’t about her or her loss. Leaving the others at the trucks, Amelia approached, and Beckett’s gaze met hers. Dark shadows lived in the depths of his gray eyes that looked so much darker today, and she suspected the darkness there wasn’t only about the loss of his father, but that he’d walked away from her in the hospital and had shut her out. But she was done with feeling hurt or confused. She knew what she wanted, the answer all too simple with Pops’ last bit of advice. Beckett.

For years, she’d run from her feelings, and avoided truly letting herself feel the heartbreak of losing Beckett. She’d simply left home, moved on, but failed to ever truly leave him behind. Because the truth was, there was no moving on from Beckett. He was her life, and she wasn’t going to run away from that any longer.

She walked between the headstones, too familiar with the area. To her right, at the very end of the cemetery beneath the huge shade trees was where her parents were buried, along with her grandmother. Pops’ ashes had been spread on the property, where he wanted to stay forever.

When she reached Jim’s casket, she placed the wreath on top and then placed her hand on the shiny wood, saying a little prayer for him before moving to Beckett’s side. She glanced his way, finding his head bowed again, and she didn’t hesitate in sliding her hand in his. His eyes slowly shut, and she heard his rough breath. Her guts twisted when he opened his eyes and tears were in them. She held his hand a little tighter.

As Beckett’s chosen family formed a circle around the casket, the minister began the ceremony and said, “Today we gather to celebrate the life of Jim Stone. We gather to share the pain…”

The ceremony continued, but Amelia couldn’t really hear the words, she could only see the pain rippling on Beckett’s face as each second went by. Brutal pain, cruel pain. She wished they didn’t have this in common, but she understood that heartache. Death wasn’t kind. Death was swift and cold. But she’d seen the other side; the bright side, where life got better, where smiles felt real and honest, and laughter overtook the misery.

Amelia only refocused on the minister when he asked, “Would anyone like to say a few a words?”

Beckett didn’t even look up. “No—”

“I would,” Amelia interjected.

Beckett’s gaze jerked to hers, uncertainty heavy on his face. “You don’t need to do that,” he said, firmly.

“I know,” she countered. “But I want to.”

He squeezed her hand, obviously to stop her, and she squeezed back, feeling like she knew exactly what steps to take forward. She was sick of getting life so wrong. Now she listened to her heart, and her heart knew the right path to take. Her heart knew how to get Beckett’s heart to hear her.

With force, she pulled her hand from his, although his hold tightened to keep her there next to him, and she settled in next to the minister. Before she began, she took out the piece of paper in her purse and looked around at her family, surprise in all of their faces. “I knew Jim before he lost his wife and after the devastating loss, and the moment I read the poem by Mary Frye, I knew I wanted to read it for Jim today.” She hesitated, drawing in a deep breath, and then began reading the poem:

Do not stand at my grave and weep,

I am not there, I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow.

I am the diamond glint on snow.

I am the sunlight on ripened grain.

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you wake in the morning hush,

I am the swift, uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circling flight.

I am the soft starlight at night.

Do not stand at my grave and weep.

I am not there, I do not sleep.

(Do not stand at my grave and cry.

---